


Warp and Weft

by LivingProof



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Barnum Angst, Barnum Worries, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Lettie Worries, Male-Female Friendship, Phillip Carlyle Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingProof/pseuds/LivingProof
Summary: Lettie Lutz is not a woman to suffer fools gladly. But there are exceptions to every rule. This rule's exceptions are named PT Barnum and Phillip Carlyle.On a dusty lot down by the docks, Lettie mends the circus in more ways than one.Barlyle or Gen, pick your poison.





	Warp and Weft

Lettie Lutz is a woman of many talents. _Voice that can move any mountain, soul strong as any lion,_ Barnum boasted once, and Lettie just laughed at him, pretended the words didn't warm that hollow between her heart and her backbone.

 

She's put that voice to good use many times since then: performing in the ring, wrangling the other oddities, bellowing back at protesters, shouting over the roar of flames to find someone, anyone, in the burning hellscape that the old Barnum Museum became in minutes.

 

She prides herself on being a practical woman too, on being able to take care of herself and her family. She's not ashamed of the life she had before the circus, hard though it was, how she knows just the right combination of lye and bristle brush that'll get almost any stain – dirt, grease, _smoke_ – out of a piece of fabric. She's also a neat hand with a needle and thread, something Barnum, tailor's boy that he was, noticed right quick and complimented her on, though not with the same volume as other things.

 

So when she sees the long gash in the canvas that will form part of the new circus tent – her new _home_ – above the lowest platform Anne and WD will use in their routine, she doesn't think to call on anyone but herself to fix it.

 

She grabs one of the stitching kits that are all over the place from the workers Barnum and Carlyle have hired to erect the big top, and prods at the ladder propped against the platform in the empty tent. Deciding it will do, she tucks the kit under one arm, hitches her skirt in her hand, and carefully ascends.

 

She hums a little while she meticulously sews, spare cord clamped between her teeth as her strong hands push the thick needle through the fabric. It doesn't take her long to mend the rift: small enough that the hired hands didn't notice, but large enough that she – and anyone who feels the same level of affection for this place she does – would care.

 

Fixing the last backstitch, she leans away to regard her work. _A right proper job that is, Miss Lutz,_ she thinks with pride. Nodding to herself, she bends over to replace the scissors in the kit, feels it when her hip bumps against the side of the ladder, parts its grip with the platform she's standing on.

 

She has the briefest thought to grab for the wooden poles that she's just knocked away. But Lettie is also possessed of a good deal of sense and self-preservation – unlike certain clots at this circus who think nothing of rushing into burning buildings – and she wisely resists.

 

There's a moment of silence, of stillness, as the ladder pauses completely upright. Lettie wants to call it back, summon its return with that strength of will Barnum so brazenly praised, but while Lettie is a singer and a dancer and a bit of an oddity – no shame in that, not anymore – she is no magician. She can only watch as the ladder tips farther back, now completely out of reach, before accelerating in its downward arc.

 

“Bullocks,” Lettie sighs as the ladder clatters loudly on the ground.

 

Everything is still for a moment, specks of sawdust spiraling up in the air, caught in the slanting sunlight that strafes the ring. Lettie looks up to the rafters, the ropes, the pulleys and hinges, then down to the skeleton of the grandstands, awaiting wooden benches for the screaming crowds to stand and stomp on. She steps to the edge of the platform to peer precariously down at the circus floor, empty for now, soon to be filled with every bit of spectacle Barnum's colorful mind can dream up.

 

But not entirely bare, because there, an arrow flying straight into the heart of the show, is her lonesome ladder.

 

Sound returns then: carpenters pounding at the wooden buildings around the big top, roustabouts calling out as they haul goods from one end of the dusty lot to the other, laborers from the lumberyard sawing planks down to size.

 

Lettie looks around the tent again, _empty, how can it be this empty,_ and is debating if her mountain-moving voice can move someone outside the canvas to come replace that sodding ladder, when the man at the center of it all strolls in through an open flap.

 

She considers saying nothing, sitting back and watching the showman at work – whatever it is he's doing here – but Barnum, always with an eye for detail, quickly marks the ladder in the middle of his ring. He steps to its end, follows the rungs to the posts, the posts to the platform, the platform to her.

 

“Lettie?” He calls out. “What on earth are you doing up there?”

 

“I'm not _on_ earth, Barnum, that's the problem!” She calls back.

 

“I can see that. How did you get up there?"

 

She waves to the ladder at his feet. “I flew.”

 

“In that case, you have talents even greater than I realized!” He grins broadly up at her.

 

“Oh for Christ's sake, Barnum, help me down!”

 

“Very well.” Barnum stoops to right the ladder, pauses in his crouch to look up at her again. He stands up suddenly, framing Lettie with his hands. “Now, that would be a sight...”

 

“Sweet Lord, what now?” Lettie mutters under her breath.

 

“Yes...I see it. Juliet, serenading us from her balcony, the sun far above we lonely lovers down below...”

 

“Barnum,” Lettie warns.

 

“And then, at the apogee of her aria, soaring, a winged messenger of heaven...”

 

“Soaring? Barnum, have you lost your – ”

 

“Or no, even better, even better, sailing up the bosom of the air to step gracefully atop her steed...”

 

“Steed? You couldn't reach a horse from here.”

 

“But an elephant...”

 

“What version of Romeo and Juliet is this, Barnum?”

 

“Circling the ring as she calls to her Romeo...”

 

“Barnum! I am no Juliet, this is no balcony, and you can be damn sure I'm not about to ride one of those blasted elephants! Would you get me down from here?”

 

“No?” He asks, still considering. “Well, if not an elephant, maybe you could – ”

 

“Barnum! Ladder! Now!”

 

“As you wish,” he sighs. Just as he is about to lift the ladder and set her free, _finally,_ Phillip scurries in the open flap.

 

“Phillip!” Barnum turns to regard his partner, leaves the ladder untouched.

 

 _Saints preserve me,_ Lettie thinks, _if I survived the inferno only to perish up here._

 

“PT,” Phillip greets him tepidly, and from her perch Lettie can see Barnum's posture stiffen as the younger man gets close. “What are you doing in here?”

 

“Taking it all in, Phillip: the taste of salty peanuts, the smell of warm hay, the feel of fresh sawdust beneath my feet.” Barnum's smile fades when Phillip looks at him flatly. _Boy that bright shouldn't look so dull,_ Lettie ponders as she notes the hunch to Phillip's shoulders.

 

“PT, they need you...” Phillip stops when he finally registers the thrice-damned ladder that got Lettie into this mess. He, like Barnum, follows its trail, jolts when he sees her atop the platform. “Lettie, what in heaven's name are you doing up there?”

 

“Earth, heaven, hell, you boys take your pick but someone _get me down!"_   She exhorts, employing just enough of her considerable volume to make both of them jump. Phillip and Barnum look at each other dumbly for a moment, and Lettie is about to bellow again when Phillip hops to.

 

“PT,” he says as he grabs the top rung of the ladder, “O'Malley's looking for you at the front gate. Something about your arrangement with the head carpenter? Sounded urgent.”

 

“Ah, right, I'll head over in just a –”

 

“He needs you _now_ , PT,” Phillip interrupts, and Lettie shifts at his abnormally surly tone, sees Barnum do the same. _Wonder if he got up on the wrong side of bed, or if he forsook sleeping altogether._  Barnum shoots an apologetic look at Lettie before nodding at Phillip and leaving the tent.

 

Phillip carefully walks the ladder upright and leans it against the platform. He adjusts it, tests the balance, finally calls out, “You'll be fine, Lettie. I'll hold it.” She carefully picks her way down as he steadies the ladder, and sighs with relief when both feet are firmly on the ground.

 

“What _were_ you doing up there?” Phillip asks again as they start walking to the tent's exit.

 

“Oh.” Lettie hefts the sewing kit in front of her. “Just mending a tear.”

 

“What? Lettie, why were _you_ taking care of it? We have laborers for that.” Phillip raises his eyebrows at her kit and Lettie feels her face flush.

 

“Well, I can fix it, and I did, and I don't need any _laborers_ to do my dirty work for me!” She snaps, regretting the harsh tone when Phillip's stride stutters and he drops his gaze. “'Sides,” she amends in a softer tone, “I don't mind sewing. Kind of find it...soothing.”

 

Phillip only nods at that as they step outside the tent. _You find anything soothing, Carlyle, other than drink and work,_ she thinks uncharitably, chastens herself right after. _Ain't nice,_ a voice that sounds suspiciously like her late Aunt Gertrude says in her head, _knocking a man down when he's trying to build himself up again._

 

And now that they're in the bright sunlight, she can get a good look at the boy. He seems...hollow. The bruises from the fire have faded, but the ugly wound near his hairline is still red and angry. His skin is pale, cheek bones sharp. She can pick up the faint lines of healing cuts on his hands, knows from how he was walking in the days after the fire that his clothing must be covering much more.

 

“Phillip...” She ventures. Phillip's eyes widen at the use of his given name. _That night was terrible for all of us._

 

“You look like cow dung twice warmed over,” she sighs out. Phillip's brows furrow for a moment, and she firmly tells herself not to think of the sweet mutt that used to beg for scraps outside the laundry.

 

“Is that how you thank all your rescuers, Miss Lutz?” Phillip asks, dry as a bone.

 

“Rescuer, my sainted aunt,” Lettie scoffs. _Ah, Gertie, what would you do were you here?_   “But. Carlyle. Are you...”

 

“Lettie. I'm fine.” Phillip clips out in a tone that makes Lettie's jaw snap shut. Forget that mutt, more like her cranky tabby that'd puff up and hiss if she tried to get a look at its scratched face or chewed up tail.

 

They say nothing, Phillip's steps slow and steady, as they make their way through the busy circus lot. Phillip begs her leave when one of the workers near the cluster of partially-built structures behind the big top calls him over.

 

Lettie decides – despite her earlier remarks about hard work – to leave the rest of the day's labor to the professionals. She's about to exit the grounds when she spies Barnum gesturing widely to O'Malley and a short, stout fellow in paint-stained coveralls. Barnum quickly spots her, waves her to stay where she is. She watches him nod at the foreman and clap a hand to O'Malley's shoulder before the former thief departs to do...whatever it is he does.

 

“I see you successfully descended from your heavenly heights to join the rest of us walking the earth!” Barnum grins ingratiatingly as he approaches.

 

“No thanks to you, Barnum.” She rolls her eyes, impervious to the man's charm. “At least you had the good sense to find a partner who...” She pauses at the shadow that falls over Barnum's eyes, steals the smile from his face.

 

“Carlyle's – ”

 

“Phillip is – ” They talk over each other. Silence for a moment, then Barnum motions for her to go on.

 

“I told him he looked like shit,” Lettie admits.

 

Barnum chortles. “And how, pray tell, did he take that?”

 

“Told me to sod off.” Barnum's expression would be enough to make her laugh any other time. “Well, not in so many words,” she adds.

 

“Yes, he's made it abundantly clear to me as well that I need not worry about his well-being.”

 

“Advice I'm sure you took to heart, Barnum.”

 

“Of course,” he replies lightly. They stand quietly, Barnum watching the roof go up on what will be his and Phillip's office, Lettie studying Barnum.

 

“Is he getting any better?”

 

“He is,” Barnum reassures her. “Recovery is...a long process.”

 

“Be a shorter process if he wasn't spending all his time pissing around here. He should be resting. Make him leave, Barnum.”

 

Lettie's never seen this expression on Barnum's face; it's half that time he caught sight of her clutching her side after getting kicked by one of those weevil-faced protesters, half that crestfallen stare when he took in the ashes and rubble the flames left behind.

 

“It's his money that's paying for all of this.” She has heard this tone from Barnum before, at the tavern that day after the fire, dripping with regret. “He'll own half the show when it's up and running.” But not with that small glimmer of pride. “Besides, I'm not exactly in a position to lecture anyone on what they should and shouldn't be doing.” Lettie sighs at the gloomy look on Barnum's face.

 

“As if that's ever stopped you before?” _Lordy, why's it always gotta be a woman who does all the heavy lifting,_ Lettie wonders for far from the first time. “Man up, Barnum,” she says, tone softer than her words. “You want to belong to this show again, play the part of a leader who cares about the people he's brought together? Start playing.”

 

Barnum scoffs. “What a part.”

 

“You know, you act like something long enough, Barnum,” _a tailor's boy who can dream bigger than any swell, a woman who can show her extraordinary, beautiful face anywhere she damn well pleases,_ “you might just find you've become that something.”

 

She reflects for a moment. “Wouldn't of thought I'd be the one had to tell _you_ that.”

 

Barnum looks at her for a long, long moment. “I have made many mistakes, Lettie.” The hint of a smile starts lifting one side of his mouth. “But pulling you out of that laundry was not one of them.”

 

Lettie smacks his shoulder. “There's that Barnum humbug.”

 

Barnum opens his mouth to reply as O'Malley appears at Lettie's elbow. _Lord Jesus how does he do that,_ Lettie thinks as she suppresses a shriek.

 

“Need you in the big top, boss,” the laconic man grunts, melting back into the buildings and crowds of workers as quickly as he came. Lettie and Barnum blink at his now empty spot for a moment before the showman grins.

 

“Hold that thought, my dear,” he cajoles as he strides off. Lettie watches him go for a moment, is about to turn and finally leave the grounds, when a voice calls out behind her.

 

“There you are!”

 

Lettie spins, looks left, right, down. “Charles! What are you about, skulking around like that?”

 

“Skulking's not so bad, Letts. Hear lots of interesting things from down here.” Lettie raises an eyebrow. “How Barnum's not the only one full of humbug, for instance.”

 

Lettie snorts at him. “Don't you have something productive to do, short stack?”

 

“Oh, yeah. We're claiming dressing rooms. Best come now if you want the one next to Constantine.” Charles smirks at her and struts off.

 

“Next to...I don't...how did...Charles!” Lettie yells as she hitches her skirt to follow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lettie is finally, _finally_ , ready to head home as the sun slinks behind the buildings to the west, having successfully staked a claim on her new dressing room, _nothing to do with Constantine, it's just closer to the stage, easier for all the costume changes in the new acts Barnum's dreaming up,_ she tells herself.

 

So of course she only gets halfway to the gate before she spies a familiar figure seated on one of the pallets near the edge of the lot. She can tell from behind that it's Phillip, though she's not sure when she gained the ability to mark him from the weary slant of his shoulders, the way he rubs at his temples. _Maybe all those months it was just him in Barnum's office, trying to get the acts right and the books to match up and the police to give a damn about the safety of anyone on our side of town._

 

She mutters, “Damn it, Barnum,” and steels herself to go over to the young man.

 

 _Speak of the devil and he doth appear,_ Gertie's voice in her head again, as she spots Barnum striding from the husk of a building to approach his partner.

 

Barnum reaches the pallet, takes a good look at Phillip, and says something that has the boy looking up hotly. He stalls the younger man's attempt to get up with a hand on his shoulder, pivots to sit beside him on the pallet.

 

Barnum leaves that hand there while he says he's saying his piece, and Phillip doesn't try to move it. _Just as well_ , Lettie thinks, remembering how easily that hand plucked her up off the sawdust last time she tripped over her own damn feet trying to learn one of those finicky steps Barnum loves so much.

 

Could be she's too far away, else Barnum's using that low voice he brings out around children spooked by the animals (and maybe once or twice around animals spooked by the children), but Lettie can't hear anything of what he's telling the boy.

 

Either way, she does see when Barnum's done, sees Phillip snarl something back at the other man as Barnum drops his hand. But Barnum's a showman and a bit of a huckster and a scoundrel like no other, so he leans back in real close, face but a few inches from Phillip's, and says something with about the softest expression Lettie's ever seen on his face.

 

There's a moment when Lettie wishes she had learned to read lips like those folks Deng told her about, or maybe had Fedor's hearing, _boy can hear an elephant chomping a peanut from the other side of a building,_ Lettie knows to be true. But then she remembers Gertie telling her once, when she'd asked where her cousin and his old friend from the war went off to all hours of the day and night, that _gossip may fill a man's mouth but it hollows out his heart_.

 

And maybe Barnum's as good as those new lion tamers they've hired on, because whatever he says makes Phillip _slump._ That arm comes up again, across Phillip's back. Barnum gives him a little shake, then leaves his hand there, thumb rubbing at the spot where the younger man's neck meets his shoulder.

 

About this point, Lettie starts thinking she really ought let these two be, because a moment like that's between the ones in the moment, and she'll respect their privacy same as she knows they'd do for her. Before she can hustle herself off, though, she sees Barnum chuckle real light, then spring up to pull Phillip to his feet. Barnum sets himself close to Phillip's side, slides that hand to the middle of the other man's back to push him along.

 

Lettie watches them walk together into the coming gloaming until she loses them past the circus gate. She's about to head out herself when a voice calls out softly.

 

“Miss Lutz? Why are you still here? It is getting dark, is it not?”

 

“Yes, it surely is,” she replies. “I only...wanted to see for myself that there wasn't a thing left that needed my attention here.”

 

“But all is well now, yes?”

 

“Yes, I'd say it is.”

 

“In that case, Miss Lutz...” an upturned hand reaches out, “would you permit me to walk you home?”

 

Lettie looks up into bright eyes, can just make out the elegant lines and whorls of ink on a smiling face in the fading light. “I'd be mighty pleased if you did,” she responds, linking elbows with the man before her. She brushes a bit of sawdust off her frock, turns around to take one last look at the silhouette of the big top, standing strong and whole and _luminous_ against the first stars, and they set off into the gathering twilight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because Lettie does not get enough love, and if anyone deserves a built, tattooed guy who likes to dance around half-naked, it's her. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Please let me know if you have any thoughts.


End file.
